


for when the cold winds blow, I will close my eyes calmly, knowing I am anchored to you

by larrywhispers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Excessive Swearing, Idiots in Love, M/M, Smut, Stargazing, drunk harry making no sense, i don't know how to tag, ot5 feels, the real reason why harry got the butterfly tattoo, top!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:52:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrywhispers/pseuds/larrywhispers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a long time before Harry breaks the heavy look they’re sharing and leans on the wall behind him, opposite Louis.<br/>“Y’know, you’ve never asked about the butterfly,” Harry almost whispers, eyes boring into Louis’. “Never told me what you think of it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	for when the cold winds blow, I will close my eyes calmly, knowing I am anchored to you

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my white blood cells who did a shit job at defending my body from the flu, thus leaving me bedridden for a whole week with nothing to do but think about these two idiots. Also shoutout to my mum for constantly checking up on how my “paper” is coming, love you mother. And a big thank you to the Merriam-Webster dictionary for correcting me when I’m wrong, couldn’t have done it without you bro.  
> All mistakes are my own.  
> Title by Tyler Knott Gregson. If you don’t know who he is, start now.
> 
> [Disclaimer:](http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/fiction)  
> fic•tion (noun \ˈfik-shən\\)  
> : written stories about people and events that are not real : literature that tells stories which are imagined by the writer  
> : something that is not true

Louis slides his index finger on the phone nonchalantly to unlock it, as Stan rambles on about how that goal was so offside, Lou, I can’t believe Chelsea is – he says more, but now that Louis sees the name on his screen, his ears go partially deaf as the only sound he hears becomes his heartbeat. Because, well, it’s been some time.

 _Hey Lou, you home?_ Harry’s message says.

He’s still nodding his head at Stan’s words, but his fingers are typing out a reply.

 _Doncaster_ , Louis sends.

As he waits for Harry’s reply, cautious anticipation blooming in his chest, he scrolls up to the last conversation they had. It was five weeks ago; Harry had wanted to know the name of the ‘heating guy’. It had taken Louis a few minutes to understand, but then, oh, right, they once shared a flat (and sometimes other things like a bed and/or a kiss and/or an orgasm). And Louis remembers how it felt as if he’s suffocating, because it seems so easy for Harry to just bring _that_ time up; like it was the most normal thing to talk about _that_ time with Louis.

 _I don’t remember, think it was Jacob? Or something equally jewish, you’d know,_ Louis had finally sent.

 _JOSHUA!_ came Harry’s reply with the praying hands emoji that Harry always argues is a high-five.

 _there you go,_ Louis had replied.

And just as he comes back to the present and wonders what Harry could possibly want, a new message appears on his screen: _Great, can I come over? Want to see the babies._

And well, yeah, he can do that.

 _Sure,_ Louis types. He adds a smiley face and hits send.

-

Even though he’s expecting the three knocks, Louis still loses his flappy bird game with an embarrassing score of 5 as Phoebe and Daisy race each other to the door.

He hears the mutual greetings and kisses as his mum joins the twins welcoming Harry, hears her “ohhh you didn’t have to, dear” and the rustling of bouquet wrapping, hears Harry’s “sorry I couldn’t come before, they can probably walk now,” hears his mum’s laugh, smiles, hears their footsteps approaching, stops smiling, locks eyes with Harry. Smiles again, broader. Harry smiles back. Shakes Dan’s hands, kisses him, congratulates him, and asks how he’s been. Hugs Lottie and kisses her. Raises his brows at the sight of Stan, clearly not having noticed him when he first entered the room, pulls him into a tight hug, tells him he misses him and asks how he’s doing. He pulls out of Stan’s embrace and stands in front of Louis, smiles, and then hugs him and kisses him on the temple.

And it’s not enough. After five weeks of silence and nearly two months of not seeing each other, four seconds are nowhere near enough.

He sits down near Louis on the couch, and they all talk animatedly about anything and everything. Harry listens intently to whatever is being said, whether it is Dan discussing the current situation in Ukraine or Daisy and Phoebe telling the story of the teacher who tripped and broke her leg. When Jay tells Lottie to come help her with tea, Harry pats Louis’ knee with his hand and asks in a low voice when Louis looks up at him: “show me the little ones?” Louis smiles and leads Harry to the babies’ room.

Stan comes along and he and Louis watch with smiles on their faces as Harry coos at the babies and makes funny faces at them. The happiness written on his face is so radiating, Louis thinks it’s contagious. There is no other explanation as to why the babies, Stan, and himself are all smiling so big.

Stan leaves the room when Jay calls from the living room that tea is ready.

“She has your features,” Harry says as he reluctantly stands up from where he was kneeling near Doris’ bed, watching her fall into a peaceful sleep.

“Tends to happen when you share genes with someone,” Louis shrugs.

Harry looks at him with a smile playing across his face and jesus, Louis already knows what’s coming when Harry says: “Well I’ve shared these specific jeans with you several times, but we don’t look like each other.”

Louis throws a plastic duck at him and tells him “you’re 5 years old, Harold,” and they both head back to the living room.

-

“Yeah, and we’ll just rehearse while we play a round of Never Have I Ever, eh?”

“It’s just for a weekend, Li,” Niall pleads, cursing at the TV where he’s currently losing a game of FIFA to Louis.

“Liam has a point, Niall. You know they won’t like it if we just fucked off to God knows where just the weekend before tour.”

“Since when do you care about what they like, Tommo, come on!” Niall says.

“Besides, we tell them we need it, we need some time to relax before the tour. They can’t say no,” Harry offers, not looking up from his phone.

“Don’t be the party poopers, dumb and dumber. We’re going.” And Zayn might me a man of a few words, but his words are final.

-

“IT’S FRIDAY, I’M IN LOVE,” Harry belts out as he carries grocery bags in one hand and fumbles with his keys in the other to unlock the door of the cottage. It looks nice, from the outside.  And most importantly, it is in a very secluded area, the closest thing indicating human life being the distant chatter coming from the farm they see in the distance.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, dear, but it’s Saturday,” Louis says as they get inside, and gets Harry’s toothy grin and middle finger as a response.

The house looks nice from the inside too. Harry had told them the man and his wife only come there for a month in the summer. Louis understands why they wouldn’t in the winter, because he’s freezing his balls off, yet the house has such a cosy and warm feeling to it, Louis thinks.

He joins Zayn on the balcony where he’s smoking a cigarette as Liam takes care of the chimney and Harry and Niall cook dinner in the kitchen.

“It’s been so long since we’ve done this,” Zayn exhales.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Think we need it most now, though.”

Zayn looks at him for a second, then turns back to staring at the horizon. “Why’s that?”

Louis doesn't answer, just offers him a sad sigh. Because the thing is, Louis would never dare say such a thing in front of anyone, yet he’s said it in front of Zayn so many times, always like now without any words, just a sigh or a sad laugh or even a look.

Zayn looks at him again: “Because _we_ need it as in the five of us, or because we’re about to tour the world for the next one hundred months?”

Louis smiles, thinks for a moment. “Both. I mean, sure, the stress and exhaustion of touring is always something to worry about, but also like. Us, you know. I feel like it’s changed so much in such a short period of time, and I – I don’t think that’s good. Us being _us_ was always one of the best things about this.  We can’t lose –”

“Oi, dinner’s ready,” Niall announces as he opens the balcony’s door.

Zayn puts his arm around Louis’ shoulders and they walk inside in silence. 

Dinner is an amalgam of Louis winning a forkless game of Who Can Finish Their Pasta First, Niall quizzing Zayn on the steps to make pasta and making Zayn feed him a handful from his own plate every time he got it wrong, Zayn ending up pouring a second plate, Harry forgetting to check on the cookies he’s baking them and muttering _shit_ with wide eyes when Liam reminds him, a frown on his face as he brings them a tray of burnt cookies and they make fun of him, and it’s as close to _them_ as Louis could have hoped for. So as he and Zayn help Harry clean the table, Liam and Niall having retreated to the couch for a cuddle, Zayn whispers to him as they carry the plates to the sink: “good enough?”, and it’s not good enough, but it’s good, so Louis smiles at him as an answer.

-

They’re gathered around the chimney with glasses of red wine in their hands, their loud laughter echoing in the small space, and it’s a slurring Harry midway through his second glass that brings it up.

“Me and Louis always said we wanna do it, remember Lou? And I mean, look at the truck, parked so incos – incops - inconspicuously there, it’s like a silent agreement on the plan.  And I’m sure Rob wouldn’t mind or else he wouldn’t leave the keys here too.”

“I’m in!” Louis says, raising his hand to corroborate his vote.

Liam is tipsy to say the least, because he falls into a fit of excited giggles and screams _yes! We should do it!_ as Zayn and Niall seem to be competing for who could give a lesser fuck that they’re stealing the pick-up truck parked outside to go stargazing.

And that is how they find themselves carrying their sleeping bags and every blanket and pillow they can find and dumping them in the back of the truck. Louis drives, with Liam in the passenger seat, as the others stand up in the back of the truck and try to re-enact the scene from The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It’s barely a three-minute ride from the cottage, because Louis figures there’ll probably be too much alcohol in their bodies by the time they drive back, so better make the distance as short as possible. And besides, this place is like a scene from a Jane Austen novel or something; there’s literally nothing but fields all around them, so all the places are the same, really.

When Louis parks the car, he and Liam join the others in the back, where they spread the blankets and sleeping bags and shiver in the crisp air of the night, Liam cuddling up to Zayn while Louis buries himself under the blankets near Liam, Niall does the same near Zayn, and Harry connects his phone to the car radio and then joins them in the back, fitting himself in the space between Niall and the edge of the truck. It’s silent for a few minutes except for Harry’s soft music and the sounds of their breathing.

And it’s so, so peaceful and so comfortable, the stars above them so numerous and so bright, and it amazes Louis that even with all the shit they’re going through, with all the distance and the tension and the sudden change in the dynamics of the five of them, they still got _this_. Louis closes his eyes, tries to remember this moment. Tries to ingrain it upon his memory to look back on when he doesn’t feel okay. 

“I don’t think I rushed into it, y’know?” Zayn’s voice is low enough that Louis isn’t sure he meant to say it out loud. “Everyone says I did, and like, no matter how sure you are of something, you _are_ eventually bound to second-guess it when everyone tells you that like it’s wrong, or shit. But I’m sure. I can see myself with her in ten years and twenty years and she’s the one I want to look at and feel like I’ll burst with love as she gives birth to my child. I’m sure.”

Louis sits up straight and looks at Zayn. He’s talked it over with him more than once, but now, with Zayn out of all people, laying out his heart like that for them to see, letting them all hear this because it’s important to him, Louis feels a big rush of affection towards him.

“Zayn, you are going to be a great husband and you’re going to marry the love of your life and _no one_ , absolutely no one will ever be able to take that from you.” Louis tells him, and then flops back as Zayn whispers to the dark, “I know, love you, Lou. Love you, lads.”

“Love you too, mate,” he hears Liam say.

“So much,” Harry adds.

“Okay, okay get off me, you pricks, I get it, I told you I love you too,” Zayn screams as he fights his way out of the embrace Louis assumes Harry and Niall have got him in.

They settle into silence again, until Harry questions after a few beats: “How did you propose?”

“Why? Want ideas?” Liam asks with a light tone.

“Yeah,” answers Harry, holding his hand out to Liam over Niall and Zayn, “want you to remember it forever, Li.”

Liam takes Harry’s hand in his and lets out an _awww_ as they all dissolve into giggles.

Louis feels something clench in his chest.

The rest of the night passes slowly as they continue talking about anything and everything, all except for Louis bored of stargazing after ten minutes and changing into a seating position. Every now and then, Louis would close his eyes again, memorizing the night and the boys and the air around him. He ends up driving them back at 2 in the morning, more sober than he was when they came, because they didn’t need to drink to enjoy their night.

-

Louis can see Harry turning around behind the foggy glass of the shower at the sound of the door opening. Louis doesn’t say anything, just closes the lid of the seat and sits down. Harry also doesn’t say anything for a few beats, then carries on humming some tune low enough that Louis can barely hear it over the noise of the water. Louis wonders if Harry knows Louis is sitting on the toilet seat while he showers.

“Hand me my towel?” Harry finally says after a few minutes. Apparently he does know. Okay.

 He grabs the towel hung on the doorknob and hands it to the hand Harry has extended towards him from the small gap in the shower glass. Harry turns the shower off and emerges a few seconds later, hair damp and curly, towel tied low around his hips, tattoos stark against his flushed chest and abdomen. Louis should look away.

“I love it,” Louis tells him, right hand bringing Harry’s wrist to his eye level so that he’s examining the anchor closely. He wants to touch it, but he doesn’t. He can always ask, he knows Harry loves when Louis asks him about his tattoos, but touching – that’s, that’s something else, isn’t it? “The heart though, Haz?” he looks up at Harry with a lopsided grin and a shake of his head, “not sure.”

Harry looks so tall. “What, you don’t like it?” he asks disbelievingly.

“No, no, I like it, but I mean,” Louis laughs, “a fucking heart on your sleeve, Haz? Really?”

“Well.” Harry shrugs.

It’s a long time before Harry breaks the heavy look they’re sharing and leans on the wall behind him, opposite Louis.

“Y’know, you’ve never asked about the butterfly,” Harry almost whispers, eyes boring into Louis’. “Never told me what you think of it.”

And honestly – what? Louis actually feels his heart race at the question and at Harry’s look, because they don’t do this. They don’t talk about that. They would’ve already changed the subject by now in other circumstances. But it’s 3 in the morning, and Louis is in Harry’s bathroom, and they’re talking about Harry’s tattoos, and apparently they’re doing it. They’re talking about _it._

“I don’t think I really need to, do I?” Louis finally says after a silence long enough to be classified as uncomfortable. And he really doesn’t need to; doesn’t need to hear how Harry decided to permanently ink the way Louis admitted Harry made him feel on his fucking abdomen.

And he’s replaying that scene in his head now, for the umpteenth time, replaying the way a 16-year-old Harry pulled out of their first kiss and looked at him when Louis whispered to his mouth “you give me butterflies in my tummy sometimes,” before attacking Louis’ lips again like it’s all he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

That look is so deeply engraved in his memory, haunted him for weeks after Harry got that tattoo, so he stops thinking about it and looks at Harry instead. He’s clearly gone on that same trip down memory lane judging by the current look on his face, and God, how did they get here?

" _What happened to us?”_ Louis asks, not really putting much effort to hide the pain in his suffocated voice. It hurts so badly he doesn’t think anything can be more painful than this moment. Except for when Harry lowers his eyes again, sighs, detaches himself from the wall, and heads to his room without as much as a glance in Louis’ way.

-

His mind is in chaos and in his sleepy haze he almost doesn’t hear the beep of his phone. It startles him though, so he immediately looks at Liam sleeping in the other bed and is relieved to see him still sleeping soundly.  He extends a hand and grabs his phone from the bedside table, closes his eyes in hope this isn’t what he knows it is, then squints at the phone.

_Harry 4:17 am_

I don’t know, but it fucking sucks.

And Louis doesn’t want to do this via text, so he slides out of his bed and pads his way to Harry’s room. When he opens the door, he sees Harry sprawled on his bed horizontally in his boxers and a grey sweater, head propped up against the wall behind him, long legs touching the floor, left hand on his chest and right one by his side holding a wine bottle.

And god, Louis feels so stupid. He should’ve known Harry was too much of a fucking coward to do this if it weren’t for alcohol. Harry starts singing _I’m giving you a nightcall to tell you how I feel,_ as Louis steps closer to where Harry is looking at him, takes the bottle out of his hands, and helps him lie down properly so he’s in a normal sleeping position.

 _I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear,_ Harry keeps singing, caressing Louis’ face as Louis sits down on the side of the bed, covers him, plants a kiss on his forehead, and tells him to go to sleep. Harry stops singing but keeps looking up at Louis, and Louis is thankful the only light coming into the room is from the dimly lit hallway, because he thinks he can’t afford Harry seeing every emotion playing out on his face.

“Do you know?” Harry whispers, as if he's picking up the conversation from where they left it. 

Louis thinks for a moment, shakes his head. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

Harry closes his eyes, and Louis stands up to leave, but then Harry sighs.

“Coward,” he says.

And it’s so unexpected that Louis turns back toward Harry, and he must be the definition of gobsmacked in that moment, but really?

“Sorry?” he squints at Harry.

 “What do you think happened, Louis? I’ll tell you what. I apparently disappeared, that’s what happened,” Harry slurs.

“You know what, Harry, you’re too drunk for this,” Louis says.

“Fuck you, you coward, I'm not drunk!” Harry replies, his slurring a clear betrayal of what he said.

“Then what are you on about?” Louis whispers.

“It’s like I don’t exist in your world, Louis,” Harry says. “You’re always ignoring me, it’s like I’m not even there.”

“Well, fucking exactly, Harry, you’re never there. You're always fucking off somewhere with - "

“And how would you know? You never even send me a bloody text anymore, Louis, you don’t know anything about me.”

Louis throws a teddy bear at him. “That’s the fucking problem, you prick, don’t you see?”

“Oh, okay, I’m terribly sorry Lou. Do you want me to just hang around your flat then? Cuddle up and watch Homeland? Because I could do that, but it’d require you actually talking to me first.”

And God, Louis’ so pissed at him because he’s not making any fucking sense.

 “Okay, listen Harry, I know we're not on our best terms right now, but don’t you dare put this on me alone, you know it’s just as much your fault as it is mine. Something happened along the way Harry, I don’t know what it is, but we were best mates, we were supposed to be there for each other and all that shit, but how are we meant to do that –

Harry throws back the teddy bear at him and whispers: “We were never just bloody best mates, you twat.”

Oh.

“Fuck you, Harry, I’m not doing this,” Louis mutters as he starts walking to the door.

“Coward,” Harry repeats.

“No, shut up Harry. Just shut the fuck up.” He turns back toward Harry’s bed. “What do you want from me? I don’t understand this fucking nonsense. One minute I’m a twat because I don’t treat you like a best mate, and the next minute I’m a twat for daring to call you that? And God, what does this mean, _we were never just bloody best mates_? Is that what you want then? Do you want us to go back to snogging and fucking in bathrooms or in hotel rooms or whichever hiding place was good enough? Because I fucking don’t.”

He doesn’t wait for Harry’s response, doesn’t look back as he opens the door and leaves.

-

He goes into the kitchen to the sight of the four boys around the breakfast table, and purposefully avoids looking at Harry. He mumbles a “morning” to the room in general and heads to where the kettle is wheezing to make his tea.

Zayn and Liam return his “good morning” as Niall rambles on about some Irish artist, scrolling through his music library. Louis notices Harry has his head down, eyes on the cup of tea he’s cradling in his hands. He looks away.

“Not my type of song, but his vocals are out of this world,” Niall says as a voice Louis’ sure he’s heard before starts the song.

He sees Harry’s head snapping up from the corners of his eyes, and Jesus, of course. He wants to look at Harry and gauge his reaction so badly, but he won’t do it. He listens to the same voice that sang _if I had a boat, I would sail to you,_ the same voice that sang _now I’m pointed north, hoping for the shore_ , the same voice that served as background music as Harry kissed him in the kitchen of their flat and made him promise he’ll get a compass tattoo if Harry himself got a ship.

And it’s too much for Louis, but the universe doesn’t seem to think so, because just as he locks eyes with Harry from across the kitchen, he hears _I remember my first love,_ and it may be James Vincent McMorrow’s surreal voice that’s sending shivers down his spine, but it’s probably not.

They pack and Louis joins Liam and Niall in Liam’s car. He drifts off in the backseat as they discuss Disclosure’s newest album.  Niall wakes him up when Liam parks in the driveway of his flat.

He toes off his shoes as soon as he gets inside, drops his bag on the couch and heads straight for the shower, hoping the hot steam will help him clear his mind.

-

A shower and a pizza later, Louis is Skyping Lottie who’s playing with Ernest when he hears the doorbell. He tells her he’ll call her back, wondering if it’s a worried Liam checking up on him. He looks out the window and does a double-take when he sees Harry’s Range Rover. He takes a deep, calming breath and heads for the door, hand hesitant on the doorknob for a few beats before he opens it.

Harry’s nose is red, like it always is when he’s out in the cold air for a long time. Louis assumes he’s been standing there for at least a few minutes. His teeth are biting at his lower lip, and his eyes are boring into Louis’. They stand there for a few moments, Louis staring back at Harry with his arms crossed in front of his body, before Harry slides in and grabs the doorknob from behind Louis, forcing him to move aside. He shuts the door and leans on it, hands still behind his back, with a tired sigh and sad eyes that are still looking at Louis.

“I know,” Harry says.

Louis knows what he's talking about. Harry apparently doesn't like making introductions to whatever he has to say about that question. “Please feel free to enlighten me on the sudden epiphany, then.”

“The beginning,” replies Harry.

“Not really in the mood for riddles, Harry,” Louis scoffs, fixing him with an exasperated look. This conversation’s barely begun and Louis’ already done with it.

“It’s the beginning we handled wrong,” Harry starts. “We were so young Louis, I mean, it took me all of two weeks to become so crazy about you and so ruined for anyone else. You became my world in the first two weeks, and I know it was the same thing for you. But we were 18 and 16 Lou, bloody children.”

He pauses for a breath, then resumes: “At first we thought we couldn’t ask for something better than this, than going through all this craziness together, remember?” He pauses  again, waiting for Louis’ response. Louis nods. “But then it got even crazier and everything got so big so fast, and we just couldn’t carry on being _us_ with everything that was happening around us, right?” He pauses again.

“Right?” he asks Louis again when Louis doesn’t answer the first time.

“Yeah,” Louis nods.

“Bullshit, Louis!” Harry laughs, “That’s just bullshit. We could; we just didn’t try hard enough.”

Louis looks at him with incredulous eyes: “Didn’t try hard enough, are you serious Harry? You know better than anyone what we had to go through and yet we kept fighting –

“No we didn’t keep fighting! We just decided it would be easier to let  –

“How dare you say that, Harry?” Louis hears his voice getting louder. “We fought with everything we can, and you know it." 

Eyes on the ground, Harry says with a small voice: “If we did, then why are we still doing it now, Louis? Why are we still fighting for something if we’ve already fought hard enough for it and reached the end of the rope?”

Louis’ reply is quick and barely audible: “We’re not fighting _for_ it, Harry, we’re fighting _about_ it. I was done fighting for it a long time ago.”

Harry is silent for a long time before he looks at Louis again and says: “Then what the hell was that yesterday? _What happened to us?_ ”

Louis inches closer to him, trying to hide the wavering of his voice as he speaks: “Harry, listen to me. You and I are not like other people, we never were. Our relationship was never a normal one. And what we had, whatever it was, it was everything to me at some point, but now it's come to the point where we need to deal with –

“Shut up Lou, Jesus,” Harry lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re seriously gonna pull a 'what we had was awesome but we can't have it anymore'? Is that what you’re gonna do?”

He gives Louis a mocking grin, and okay. Since Harry seems to be taking this as a joke, Louis tries his best to look him straight in the eyes as he says in a firm tone:

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Harry’s grin is quickly replaced with frustration and his voice is filled with exasperation and anger when he speaks. “God, you’re such a child Louis.”

Louis is shocked, and he lets his open mouth and raised brows clearly convey that. “Oh excuse me, but last time I checked, I wasn't the one calling people cowards just because I didn't know what I wanted from them.”

Harry laughs, shakes his head, mutters “Christ, you're unbelievable,” and runs a hand through his hair, stepping further into the room and heading toward the kitchen, where he pours himself a glass of water.

And it’s so _Harry_ that all Louis can do is follow Harry’s movements around _hi_ s kitchen with wide eyes and mouth. Harry looks at him again and laughs, and wait, why is he still here anyway? And more importantly, why is he laughing like _any_ of this is funny, because Louis is definitely not enjoying this.

“Care to share what’s so funny?” Louis asks, dumbfounded look still on his face.

Harry looks at him for a moment, before he goes back to his initial position in front of the door, lets his eyes look around the room then settle on Louis again, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I just realized I’m gonna marry you someday.”

And w – what? Like, really, what?

Louis is still trying to process Harry’s words – really, what the hell? – when Harry continues:

“And you wanna know why? Because we’re gonna do this all over again. We’re going back to the start,” he says so fast the words seem to be fighting their way out of his mouth. “We’re gonna fall in love again like we did three years ago and snog in bathrooms because we’re in the biggest band in the world and no one can know we’re together, but we’re gonna be together anyway,” he laughs, “and then one day, just you wait and see, one day we’ll tell the whole world, Louis, and everyone will know how fucking gone I am for you. And it’s so funny because I am as sure of this as Zayn is of his decision –which, let me tell you, is a whole lot– and yet you’re still standing across me now wasting time trying to convince me you don’t love me anymore when I am fairly certain by the time I’m done with this bloody speech you’ll be already kissing the fuck out of mmmphh -”

Louis walks them back till Harry’s back hits the door, hands holding Harry’s face as Harry laughs into his mouth and licks his way across his lips and teeth, and Louis actually moans when Harry’s tongue finds his. It’s been months since they’ve done this, but somehow it’s back to the way it was, only thirteen times better, and Louis didn’t know how much he craved this till now. They pull back for air, and Louis tries to control his rapid breathing and his racing heartbeat as he tells Harry, “you give me butterflies in my tummy some times.”

Harry looks at him as if he cannot believe Louis is real, then yanks him in for another wet sloppy kiss as they stumble their way back to Louis’ bedroom, and Louis feels so overwhelmed when Harry breaks their kiss to tell him, “careful,” as they step above the steel door latch Louis always stubbed his toe with. They make their way to the bed they shared once too many times before, and Louis falls back against it as Harry lands on top of him without breaking the kiss.

“Off, off,” Louis mutters, pushing at the hem of Harry’s sweater. It’s a matter of seconds before their clothes are strewn across the floor and Harry is pulling Louis again into a bruising kiss. Louis flips them with practiced ease so that he’s lying on top of Harry, and blindly fumbles in his drawer for the lube, not detaching his lips from Harry’s even for a second. By the time he finds it, Harry has already started thrusting up to get some friction, mumbling a chain of “please” and “Lou” and “god”. Louis doesn’t waste time, slicks his fingers up, gives Harry one, then two, then three fingers, reveling in the sounds Harry makes each time, in his moan when Louis tilts his wrist and reaches that spot that sends shivers down Harry’s spine and makes him arch his back so gracefully.

And he really doesn’t want to, but he has to ask, because it’s been months since they’ve done this. Harry must see the unsure look on Louis’ face, because confusion crosses his face for a mere second before he pulls Louis back in and mutters to his mouth, “no one since you, Lou, I couldn’t,” and wow. Okay. You can count on Harry Styles to almost make you choke on tears when you have three fingers buried in him.

He keeps kissing Harry as he slides his fingers out and supports his weight with one hand as he positions his dick to align with Harry’s hole with the other. Harry’ hands roam Louis’ back, and his thighs wrap around Louis' hips, pulling Louis as close as possible to his body, until they’re slotted together like two halves of one unit, until Louis doesn’t know where each one of them starts and where they end.

Ready, he asks Harry with his eyes. Ready, Harry’s eyes reply. He swallows Harry’s moan when he sinks into him, then moves his mouth to Harry’s throat as he starts moving in slow, rhythmic thrusts that elicit from Harry the most amazing sounds Louis’ ever heard. And it’s been months, months without this, so it’s not too long before the familiar sensation starts building in the bottom of their spines, their thrusts becoming deeper and faster and more frantic. Harry cries out as he comes on his stomach, Louis following seconds after him, filling him up and biting on his shoulder. Harry keeps holding him as they come down from their highs, gentle hands spanning Louis’ back and gentler lips kissing Louis’ hair and temple. When their breathing starts to edge on normal again, Louis crosses his arms on Harry’s chest, hooking his chin on them, and staring at this wonder of a boy staring back at him.

“You know what I haven’t told you in a long time?” he asks Harry.

Harry has the biggest grin on his face as he lifts his head slightly and kisses Louis, then replies, “What?”

Louis lets the silence stretch out for a few more seconds before he adds, “I love you. I’m so in love with you it’s actually not funny.”

Harry kisses him. “God, Lou, you have no idea.”

He kisses him again.

Louis thinks _You give me butterflies in my tummy. All the fucking time._

**Author's Note:**

> 1- I totally stole the “dumb and dumber” nickname for lilo from a post i reblogged on tumblr  
> 2- If you wanted to burst out “and i'm tryna change your mind” after “it’s 3 in the morning”, high five because me too  
> 3- I wrote this WHOLE thing with broken w/s/x/2 buttons on my keyboard and had to use my on-screen keyboard (pure agony let me tell you)  
> 4- If you want (PLEASE) come talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.louiswasatthesamegig.tumblr.com)  
> 5- If you were wondering, yes, you should go listen to james vincent mcmorrow if you haven't yet.
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much for reading this. please don't hesitate to leave your remarks, comments, or kudos if you liked it, thanks again!


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